


Movement: Nach und Nach

by Iristedeu



Series: Movement [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bard Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Mild Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and falling HARD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iristedeu/pseuds/Iristedeu
Summary: Alvaar Aldaviir wasn't the sort for repeat performances. There was too little time to bother growing accustomed to anything in a world that wouldn't hold still for you, be it music or sexual partners.Haurchefant Greystone, however, was a man well deserving of any number of encores. If only because he really didn't play fair...
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Series: Movement [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744579
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Movement: Nach und Nach

**Author's Note:**

> Time Frame: Post ARR, spoilers for Tam-Tara Deepcroft and the Edda Questline
> 
> Notes: Mild NSFW(?) I'm never quite certain on the tags/rating. But if you're here for more porn than melodrama, it's the wrong fic.  
> Did some digging for some early Alvaar content. This one's heavy on Alvaar's thoughts and POV, and gives a much better feel for his character than anything posted thus far.
> 
> Even so. In these trying times, have a dumb Bard falling hard for everyone’s favorite Lord. This fic will also be putting the oneshots I have on tumblr and Ao3 as the same, so I'll be a bit slower posting, but there's still loads of content for me to clean up if people are still into it.

“Yea but so far it seems pretty true. If you just hold your hand up like so your chocobo will sort of just-“ Alvaar explained, holding an open hand up in demonstration.

“Lay his head in your palm like so yes?” Haurchefant cut in, settling his jaw into the Bards hand with a bright smile.

Blinking at him in a moment of surprise, Alvaar’s expression quickly warmed.

“Yes, now mine likes to do it because he thinks he’ll get a treat so if you leave your hands open he’ll try and guilt something out of you so I just…” leaning in he pressed a kiss to the Lord’s cheek, making the man jerk a bit with stunned surprise. “Give him a little fluff instead.”

Patting Haurchefant’s cheek, he turned back to the chocobo porter expectantly, the stable hand trying not to laugh at the faint flush of surprise on Haurchefant’s face.

“You shouldn’t tease a man so Alvaar,” Haurchefant joked with a laugh as they walked back towards the fort. “You’ll give him the wrong ideas.”

“Who’s teasing?” The Bard shot back simply with a single raised brow before smiling slowly. “You know you’re not very subtle for nobility. You’ve practically been undressing me with your eyes every time I show up. I think the only reason Alphinaud drags me here with him is because he thinks you’ll get things done faster if there’s a chance to talk to me and he won’t need to be in the cold so long.”

At that the taller Elezen shifted, visibly taken aback by the Bards words. “Ah, my… apologies friend. I didn’t mean to cause any offense,” he supplied quickly, a note of panic in his tone.

Leaning in a bit, Alvaar flashed him a cheeky smile. “None taken Lord Greystone. In fact, I rather like a bit of forwardness in people. It suits my preferences better that a man be more _direct_ in what he wants instead of wasting my time.”

At that the Lord blinked, lifting silver eyes to meet Alvaar’s gaze with faint surprise. “Is that so? Then I am delighted to find it humors you well Alvaar. I would hate to cause any offense that would see you away for truly I find the landscape rather brightens with you in it.”

The Bard’s ear twitched, giving a blank look a moment before a softer expression crossed his face. “Well aren’t you the silver tongued flatterer… would you mind terribly for me to make a request My Lord?”

“Haurchefant,” he corrected lightly. “And if it pleases you then naturally I am all ears to what you may need to ask of me.”

Slipping a hand into Haurchefant’s, the Bard squeezed firmly. “I find the day grows late and the weather rather cold. Would you mind terribly if I requested a bit of warming up with your personal attention?”

The look of exuberance that lit the Lords face almost made Alvaar falter a moment before Haurchefant was bringing his hand up towards his lips, pausing where he’d feel the words against his skin. “Of course! With you… yes that would be truly splendid indeed.” A faint brush of lips touched the back of the Bards fingers. “I would be honored.”

Alvaar wasn’t overly surprised that Haurchefant had practically fallen on him once the door was closed and the lock in place. It was a response he was a little used to given his tendency to flirt for longer than most of his partners could reasonably stand. And given how long the Lord of Camp Dragonhead had been eyeing him it was safe to say he’d been teased enough. But Alvaar would be lying if he said he’d fully expected the passionate force that had him lifted and slammed up against that door like anything less would mean death.

He’d had his share of fervent and forceful lovers but… Well, Haurchefant Greystone was a man in his own league.

He’d known the Lord was a passionate man but he truly did engage in the carnal delights with the same level of exuberance he took into battle. Like every encounter might be his last and that the glory of his ideals and deeds would sing eternal after him.

He made love like pleasure and pain were the same person, and Alvaar knew even before clothes were fully off he’d have plenty of reasons to remember him over the next day or even three. Every bite and bruise, every mark and ache. Tons of little reminders of his partner in this carnal dance of two.

The Bard knew from experience that his vocal range was rather extensive but even he’d been stunned to find a few notes just a touch higher over the course of the evening. Voice aching and hoarse from cries of pleasure and plenty happy for the silent thoughtlessness of the after as the Lord pressed kisses to his neck and held him tight.

Oh, but that heady satisfied weight of the afterglow… if it were more addicting Alvaar didn’t think he’d ever get anything done. He’d barely noticed or cared when Haurchefant slipped from bed, deaf to whatever he’d said until he was being roused from a doze with a cup of hot chocolate.

It was something so innocuously sweet to offer someone after nearly fucking their brains out he couldn’t help but snort on a laugh.

Even so, Haurchefant smiled anyway and hauled him upright so he could press the mug into his hands. “Trust me my friend. There are few things more Coerthan than a cup of cocoa after a passionate round of sex. It’s the only proper way to warm up an esteemed guest.”

He wasn’t surprised that it devolved into a second and third bout of sex. He knew he’d ache from it and still delighted in the borderline painful dominion of body that silenced the mind.

What did surprise him was rousing slowly to the feeling of calloused but gentle fingers against his face. Stroking along his cheek and brow with a patient care. When he’d finally managed to open his eyes he’d met Haurchefant’s quietly, noting the genuine affection in those silver depths and this time he could only huff a weak laugh and smile back.

“Nerd,” he mumbled, grinning stupidly as he slipped back into a doze while Haurchefant looked confused.

Even so, Alvaar had felt that gentle touch lull him straight to sleep for the duration.

* * *

Still, it was (for him at least) an unspoken one time thing. Something hot and sweaty and passionate to scratch the itch. To clear his head. An exhausting bout to help him sleep and wake up refreshed and focused.

But given he’d woken up still wrapped up in strong arms…

The lingering press of lips to his face…

Could he really be blamed if he thought the passionate Lord expected more? If he was surprised by how nonchalantly Haurchefant spoke to him later in the halls as though nothing had changed? How odd it was that the Lord in no way seemed to anticipate such a thing might happen again?

And yet the Lord did. He greeted him the same as he always had. Spent his whole second visit with that patiently kind smile on his face and never inquired about it. They’d simply discussed business and exchanged pleasantries and even a friendly discussion on local lore before going about their business.

Was it really all that surprising Alvaar would find it odd after many a previous lover had never been able to return to the ‘before’?

So he’d pondered and he’d wondered and the next time he saw the Lord he asked a favor of him again. Scrambled for a grip on strong shoulders as he was fucked against the door and gasped a duet with each squeak of the hinges.

Enjoyed the lingering taste of chocolate on Haurchefant’s tongue in the second and third act of this play of passion.

Was it really his fault that he started to lean into that gentling touch against his face soothing him afterwards?

Could he really be blamed if he wanted to lounge late into the morning curled up against that strong chest? Letting his own touches start to wander and explore and linger. Pressing faint kisses to his skin as he nuzzled against his neck…

Haurchefant simply didn’t play fair he reasoned.

If he’d gotten possessive or clingy then Alvaar would have happily skipped away. He didn’t do repeats for a reason after all, his life was too dangerous and his passions too fanciful to bother with a string of jealous lovers.

He simply didn’t know how to handle this man that was so genuinely friendly and expected nothing further from him. Who smiled at him each time he showed up with the same exuberance as their first meeting yet didn’t drag him away to rip his clothes off until Alvaar asked.

It was all rather Spartan of him and the Bard resolved that he shouldn’t be surprised. Not when he’d taken one glance at Haurchefant on their first encounter, sized up the room and the shirtless men doing squats in the corner, and mentally announced his entry into the gay Elezen kingdom. A frozen hellscape of a thousand year conflict where everyday might be the last. Why wouldn’t you approach everything with doggish enthusiasm and give it your all?

A few light touches and a bit of attentive thought was no reason to get anything twisted. The sex was great and if Haurchefant wasn’t making a scene of anything he might as well enjoy the passions of a man that fucked like the world was ending with no strings attached while he could.

* * *

But Alvaar, even with this believable guise of a selfless warrior of myth ever more firmly in place, would always be a cynic. He could smile and nod and leap into danger with reckless abandon, but it was never out of blind stupidity.

If no one else knew his thoughts or troubles then that was perfect, but the Bard would never be able to ignore the fact he could be downright miserable. That in reality, he would never be able to escape the truth of his upbringing. Just another lowborn orphan of war, with a lot of anger and grief buried deep in his heart.

It was what made him so perfect for handling the trauma of his role with practiced stoicism after all. It was the fuel for his songs and what gave them power when everywhere else his face remained placid and calm like the eye of a storm. When you weren’t surprised by things turning out horribly, that mask couldn’t slip.

It was why, watching a promising adventurer fall into madness from grief in her failings, definitely didn’t bother him. An entire dungeon of voidsent intent to rip his soul from his body?

Fine.

Reanimated parts and corpses of failed experiments trying to rip him in two?

… Easy.

Reading the entries of a journal as Edda Pureheart cataloged her descent into madness and promised her dead beloved the body of the Warrior of Light he’d looked up to in life?

… Creepy, but he could handle that.

Watching a woman warped in grief and tragedy, who had only ever wished to rise above her station like himself, tumble away into the dark depths in a blaze of fire after he’d slain whatever hope she’d had for her future?

…

He hadn’t noticed he’d gone to Dragonhead instead of the Goblet until he’d felt Haurchefant’s hands gripping firmly at his shoulders. And when he’d met those concerned eyes and felt the inquisitive stares of the servants that had started to remember him…

“Do you have a minute?” he’d asked softly, voice painfully neutral and the request this time held none of the cheeky sass and pretense of his previous. “Somewhere private, if you please.”

He didn’t have the heart for subtlety, their familiar cat and mouse, when more than ever he’d just wanted to not _think._

So before the handsome Lord could even ask him what was wrong after the door had been closed he’d dragged him into a heated kiss and pulled him closer still until he was pinned between the wood and Haurchefant’s chest and in a quiet whisper asked him to just take whatever he had left to give.

Until his mind was as quiet as the muffled snow falling outside, free from that image that haunted him. Until he couldn’t move and had no choice but to give into a dreamless sleep instead of trying to physically outrun the thoughts.

Bless him but Haurchefant was passionate in all things. No less so for this.

Alvaar had hoped he’d be unable to recall anything afterwards. A bit optimistic for his usual really but it must have paid off. He didn’t think of Edda for at least a little while. Though for better or worse,he wouldn’t ever be able to shake the memory of those battle worn hands cradling his face so carefully it seemed like the Lord thought he’d break any minute. Kissing his temple and murmuring quiet words the Bard couldn’t focus on but that quieted his heart regardless even as he dug his heels into the mans back in wordless plea for more.

Alvaar wasn’t a man that had ever believed someone would be able to save him from a world of suffering. You didn’t become a hero by waiting to be rescued after all. Whatever he had would ever be at the cost of his own efforts and no matter how good, how noble, he might act or selflessly try to be he would always be met with misery and hardship at some point for reward. It was the unequivocal truth of the world that bad things happened to everyone, even good people. He’d drawn a particularly difficult lot and would have to shoulder it himself or die trying.

But deep in his heart he would bury those soft words he pretended hadn’t almost made him break into tears after a decade of bitter lonely pride.

“Everything will be alright Alvaar, I promise.”

The Lord wouldn’t ever know what something like that meant to a man who’d long had nothing…

But then again perhaps he did if he knew to say it at all.

* * *

If he were a better person, he figured he might have woken up and prayed to the Twelve that Edda find peace. Instead he came awake in a tangle of warm limbs with a faint kiss being pressed to his brow and all he could think of was how badly he wanted to forget. How much he didn’t want to bear this burden too when all the world placed everything on his shoulders without a second thought.

And if Haurchefant could just push his limits a bit further maybe he could fall back asleep before he remembered that chilling smile on her face.

So he’d moved himself a bit closer and nuzzled into the Lords neck where he knew a few kisses and soft bites would get him riled up the most. Just one more good round and maybe he’d be too exhausted to think…

Instead, Haurchefant hugged him tighter and ran a hand along his back in a soothing manner that was at odds with what the Bard had been after.

“Alvaar… my friend please whatever it is you can tell me,” Haurchefant murmured, quiet concern in that soft noble tone. “You do not need to keep it all inside. I’m here for you.”

Alvaar made it about as far as digging his fingers into sturdy shoulders in protest before he finally fell apart. Buried his face into the Lords chest and for the first time in a decade he openly cried until the silent thoughts he’d been seeking could at last find him in the hollow shell he had left.

He remembers being held and comforted. The brush of a warm cloth at his face, drying tears he couldn’t recall shedding. A quiet voice that spoke words of encouragement with firm faith.

Even if Alvaar was too cynical to believe them that was fine. Haurchefant had faith enough for them both that it would all be okay. Faith enough that even Alvaar could manage a weak smile after the Lord had listened to the full story, as they sat on the rug sharing the blankets off the large master bed and soaked in the warmth of the fire and those oft offered mugs of hot chocolate.

Perhaps, he mused silently to himself once they’d crawled back into bed, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to remember. Perhaps it was just that after a life lived handling everything on his own he’d forgotten how to ask for help. Forgotten he could, even just a moment, lean on the support of others to help stand tall and bear the unbearable. Loneliness, more than anything else, had a way of warping everything around you until eventually every light in your heart could turn black as pitch.

He couldn’t really fault Edda. If he’d been left with no one and nothing, surely the presence of a demon would feel like home over that aching silence.

Even a wolf, no matter how resilient and fierce, gifted and strong, would freeze in the blackest winter night without a warm flank to lean into and go mad listening to the sound of its cries alone.

  
  


Alvaar didn’t ponder his relationship with Haurchefant much after that. How strange any of it was, or how he didn’t feel nearly as indifferent to it as he had before. It wasn’t odd that he showed up ‘just because’ or that none of the servants tried to give him his own room during his stay anymore. It wasn’t strange that he didn’t ask but they eventually ended up in Haurchefant’s room anyway with an unspoken understanding. It wasn’t weird that he leaned into those gentling touches and relished them openly, nor that he reciprocated with his own in the peaceful quiet afterwards. And it most assuredly couldn’t be odd that they lay side by side until early morning hours talking about whatever came to mind. Trading stories, lore, and even a few songs. That Alvaar knew the truth of Haurchefant’s pained upbringing or that the Lord knew details of the Bards bitter youth. That was all perfectly normal.

He just knew that somewhere in it all, there had been a slight change. Something subtle that he couldn’t quite name but he felt it. A particular smile on Haurchefant’s face when he greeted him that he knew was his and his alone no matter who walked in that door.

And that was the only change he’d needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Nach und Nach: "more and more" with an increasing feeling.


End file.
